


knowing all the things you just escaped

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5014252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke fucking Griffin comes back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	knowing all the things you just escaped

**Author's Note:**

> this was written before s3, obviously, and isn't canon-compliant after blood must have blood: part 2.

            Clarke fucking Griffin comes back. Waltzes back into Camp Jaha like she owns the place, like she didn’t abandon them all two months ago.

            (Clarke comes back looking uncomfortable and out of place, but Octavia prefers her version of the story instead. It’s easier to hate her when she paints her as a cartoon villain instead of somebody who used to be her friend.)

            There’s lots of hugging, warm embraces that last for what feels like months, smiling and laughing and catching up like Clarke went on a vacation to somewhere exotic instead of camping out in the woods, sleeping in the dirt, for two months. Octavia knows this because when Clarke walks through the gates, she has a leaf stuck in her hair that she hasn’t noticed yet.

            Octavia says nothing to her when she comes back; Clarke tries to catch her eye, but all she gets in return is an icy stare. Even if there wasn’t all this bad blood between them, the months after Mount Weather have been the most isolated in Octavia’s life, and she spent the majority of it hiding under floorboards. Although she’s surrounded by people, she feels alone. She turned her back on the Sky People, opted to assimilate into Grounder culture instead, and they haven’t forgotten about it. Octavia couldn’t have known what Lexa was going to do. She _stayed_.

            They don’t get it. It stings a bit to see Clarke welcomed back like she is when Octavia hasn’t felt truly welcome for a long time now. She turns her back on them and heads back to her tent.

            In the darkness and solitude of her tent, she still can’t get away from Clarke Griffin; if she’s honest with herself, she hasn’t been able to get away from her since she left. There’s so much anger, so much resentment, so much hurt that Octavia feels as if she’ll burst with the pain of it. It’s all simmered while Clarke has been away. Mixed together with the feelings of the past, the affection and concern and general sense of _togetherness_ she had felt before Tondc. Octavia is so incensed with conflicting emotions that she can’t stand it – they’re building up too much pressure in her chest, they need to be released.

            Her feet move of their own volition in the middle of the night. She grabs a sweater to cover up her tank and shoves her feet into her boots clumsily. Before she knows it, she’s standing in front of Clarke, staring down at her. Octavia had expected her to startle, but she doesn’t. She hadn’t even been asleep, just sitting there looking at the wall, completely checked out.

            “Screw you,” Octavia says.

            Clarke’s eyes draw upwards to look at Octavia for the first time since she walked in. They’re duller than Octavia remembers, or maybe they got that way without her noticing. Clarke certainly changed without her noticing. “Octavia.” That’s all she says, just _Octavia_ , and hearing Clarke’s tired voice form her name strikes a feeling she can’t name into her heart. She realizes that she forgot what Clarke’s voice sounded like, and hearing it gives her some sense of recognition, like she’s back at the original camp before all of this shit went down and everything got fucked up beyond belief. Octavia almost forgets she’s supposed to hate this girl, the princess who turned out to be so much more than that, the girl Octavia took care of when she fell sick.

            _The girl who let a missile drop on Tondc_ , she reminds herself.

            “Don’t do that,” Octavia snaps, and she isn’t sure which one of them she’s talking to anymore.

            Clarke’s frown deepens. She wonders if her face is permanently stuck that way. “Do what?” She asks so innocently, but Octavia can tell she’s thinking of a million different things she’s doing wrong right now. Clarke is addicted to self-flagellation, after all.

            “Don’t— _Octavia_ me.” Octavia’s hands fly up in frustration. The gesture isn’t quite as powerful as it would have been if she weren’t in her pajamas. “Don’t act like you can explain, because you can’t. You left us, Clarke. You left _Bellamy_ to deal with it all alone. The rest of us sucked it up. You should try it sometime.”

            Throughout her tirade, Clarke just listens quietly. She almost wonders if she plans to speak at all; after a long pause, Octavia whirls around, ready to walk out before she’s stopped by Clarke calling, “ _Octavia._ ” She gasps under her breath. “I mean—don’t go.” There’s another pause before she adds, soft but firm, “Please. Stay.”

            There’s a breathy desperation to her voice that stops Octavia in her tracks. She wills herself to move, to walk out and leave Clarke alone to consort with her demons, but it keeps playing over and over in her mind. _Stay. Stay. Stay._ She takes a breath and slowly turns around, placing a hand on her hip. “You’ve got thirty seconds to tell me why I should.”

            “I’m sorry,” Clarke says, voice cracking a little. Octavia hates that the sound of it makes her think about wrapping her arms around Clarke, holding her head as she nestles into the crook of Octavia’s neck and listening until her anxious breathing slows to a relaxed pace. She _doesn’t_ want to, not really, but part of her wishes she could. Octavia wishes they lived in a world where she could want that, where she could feel something nameable when she looks at Clarke; she wishes she could say ‘I forgive you’ and mean it.

            This is not one of the fairy tales Bellamy read her back on the Ark. There are no fairy godmothers, no genies, or magic. No one is coming to grant her wish. There are no happily-ever-afters. There’s just this, standing in Clarke’s room in the dead of night, the distance between them palpable but the closeness between them unbearable. A flurry of contradictory emotions. Wanting to want her, yet hating herself for wanting anything at all.

            “Sorry isn’t good enough,” she finally says after a long silence, and it’s the truth. There are no apologies that will fix this; there may be nothing that can fix it at all. Clarke opens her mouth to speak, but Octavia is talking before she can, moving towards her predatorily. “After everything you did, you wouldn’t even stay and deal with the consequences. You ran away.” She takes a tiny, ragged breath. “You didn’t say goodbye.” It comes spilling out of her mouth, a flood of truths she’d hoped to keep locked away. It means nothing and everything, and Octavia isn’t sure which option she prefers.

            Again, “I’m sorry.” Clarke is uncertain of what to do with her hands. They look like they’re grasping for the words Clarke can’t find. They look like they’re reaching out for something – anything – stable to hold onto. Octavia has never seen Clarke’s movements be so devoid of purpose. She looks at Clarke’s hands and sees them on a gun, on a dagger, on Octavia.

            “Stop talking,” Octavia says, just before her mouth collides with Clarke’s.

            It isn’t gentle. It isn’t like anything Octavia has ever had with Lincoln. It’s hard and rough and dangerous, every movement possibly resulting in blood and tears. One of her hands rests on Clarke’s neck, pulling her closer, and the other on her waist. Clarke is rigid and tense, but then she softens. Giving up, giving in, but also reciprocating; she can feel Clarke’s wanting emanating off of her, although Octavia can’t pinpoint whether it’s for her or simply for a real human connection.

            She pulls away from Clarke for only a moment, eyes meeting hers in an intense stare as she says, “This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”

            They’re still so close that she can feel Clarke’s breath, uneven as she replies, “I know.”

            She captures Clarke’s mouth with hers again, hungry and demanding, no tenderness. Part of her wishes this could be tender, could be everything soft and affectionate that a good romance deserves, but it can’t. Clarke responds with hunger in kind, kissing like she’s insatiable, like Octavia is a downpour and Clarke hasn’t had a drop of water in months. Her fingernails dig into Clarke’s back, just hard enough that Octavia can feel a fevered gasp against her mouth. She finds herself gasping as well, all too aware of the heat she feels in the pit of her stomach when Clarke’s skin meets hers.

            When it’s over, they’re both covered with marks they won’t be able to explain in the light of day. Octavia rolls over, pulls on her shirt, and leaves without saying goodbye.


End file.
